


tell me you love this, tell me you're not miserable

by expirings



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expirings/pseuds/expirings
Summary: This is not sustainable.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	tell me you love this, tell me you're not miserable

When it began, it had been real. Soul-crushingly real. The fervor and intensity remained, of course, but not in the way they wanted. 

It hadn’t taken long, after the fall. Wounded as they were, they’d shared a bed, tended to each other’s naked bodies, stitching eachother up as if they had done it a thousand times. To be so vulnerable together physically, after their minds had been at one another’s mercy for so long — it was euphoric, radiant. 

Will had initiated it, because he knew that's what Hannibal wanted, what Hannibal was waiting for. Will had wanted it too, of course — his mind had been plagued by Hannibal in many ways for many years, and after all they’d done to one another, this was just one more thing. One more thing they could do. 

It had been tentative, unsure, as new things were. Will knew what he wanted, what they both wanted, and yet he found himself nervous. It had been a month after the slaying of the Dragon, a month of lying together in bed, laying close but not too close. Will had turned to face Hannibal, who was already watching, anticipating whatever Will would do. And still, he seemed surprised when Will brought a hand to his face, rubbing a thumb over Hannibal’s sharp cheekbone, before leaning forward and brushing their lips together for the smallest moment. 

They’d been gentle, at first. Navigating something new in their relationship, something neither of them wanted to ruin, not anymore, because hadn’t they hurt each other enough? Slow, ever so slow, they took it, chaste kisses took weeks to turn into something languid, and even then they spent long nights doing nothing more than that. Even when he felt like he’d turned to liquid, his toes curling at the smallest of Hannibal’s touches, they were slow, careful. When it finally happened, sex, it was an agonizingly slow affair, spending what felt like (or was it actually, in the matter of teacups and time) hours, tasting skin, feeling flesh, learning one another in a new way. It was wonderful, in its nonviolence — something Will hadn’t anticipated it being like, until the first, terribly small kiss — the soft feeling of being held and touched until his breath would hitch, until soon he was moaning out Hannibal’s name like a prayer. The sounds Will made at night became Hannibal’s new favorite hymn, and together they discovered every note. 

When they were healed, the violence returned. This was expected, they were not themselves without some savagery. And so their nights were no longer just spent in bed, under the guise of gentle touch. No, they went out on the prowl — their hunting trips brutal and bloody, and while they didn’t leave their art for others to feast upon with a terrified gaze, they brought their kills home for dinner. Just another thing they could play with using their tongues. 

It was maybe a year before it felt monotonous. The thrill of being on the run died down, the excitement of sex became more of a bore — something they’d gotten down to a science. They knew how to make each other tick in every now, and arguments did not have much fire behind them anymore. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t discuss what they knew was happening. 

Will wondered if he should be worried. Two killers getting bored with eachother could not end well. And yet he found himself hoping for it, like maybe it would make it exciting again. But he found that Hannibal didn’t want to initiate such a thing, and really, neither did he. The cat and mouse game was something they’d done for years, why rekindle it now, when they knew the game too well? 

At night, in bed, Hannibal’s arm around his waist, Will pretended to sleep. He knew they wouldn’t survive separation — they barely had before, he hadn’t lied when he’d said it, all that time ago in Florence. And still he wondered if they would survive like this — contentment (if you could call it that) with a price: boredom. It hadn’t been quite like this with Molly; with her he’d still been an actor, hiding behind the guise of a troubled man, not someone who allowed himself to be wholly seen. But now even being seen had lost its tantalizing nature. He and Hannibal knew each other too well for there to be anything fun left between them now. 

With a shuddering breath, Will traced a finger over the bone of Hannibal’s wrist. He couldn’t kill him. To do that would be to kill himself. It was not out of love — though they’d said the words in many ways many times now: _I love you. I cherish you. I couldn’t live in a world where you are not. Our teacup came together. If I saw you everyday, I would remember this time. I ache for you._ — but self-preservation that Will decided that killing Hannibal would be fruitless. 

He thought of a conversation they’d had years ago, after Will’s first real kill. “Stay with me.” Hannibal had said, but it had been a question, because he did not know what Will wanted, if he wanted him the same way Hannibal wanted him. 

“Where else would I go?” Will had replied then, feeling warm despite the dead body on the table, as Hannibal held his hand, wrapping his bleeding knuckles in soft gauze bandages.

Those words kept ringing in his head while he feigned sleep.  
_  
Stay with me.  
Where else would I go? _

_Where else would I go?_  
  
In truth, he had nowhere else to go. He knew this. Hannibal knew this. Neither of them would leave. They would not survive alone, not mentally. There would be a piece missing. They were not whole people when they were not together.

Maybe it was that. Becoming so intertwined with one another that they were no longer separate people. Nothing is exciting when it feels like you are by yourself. And now, that is just as it was — they were one in the worst way. This is how loneliness festers, even in loving company. 

Will knows this. Hannibal knows this. And then days and nights blend together, endless, almost dull in their calculation. They rarely spoke, not as they used to. Before their conversations had been chock-full of endless metaphor, a dance around one another’s words to figure out who was lying and who was telling the truth (if either of them ever were), and now their days were mostly spent in silence. A turn of the head, the blink of an eye, and they would know their partner’s needs. Sex, food, and silence. 

They didn’t talk about it. Will didn’t think they ever would. And then, on another one of those endlessly quiet nights, the lamp on their bedside table glowing golden in their bedroom, Hannibal spoke in a voice so fragile Will thought he would shatter like one of the teacups they’d broken so many times before. “Tell me you love me.”

It was not a question. And when Will replied, it was not a lie. “I love you.”

“Tell me you’re not miserable.” 

This time, a pause, a slight hindrance in his breath, when he said: “I’m not miserable.” This was a lie. 

“Please, Will. I know when you are lying.” After all, I know you as I know myself; we are one, we are not separate. 

“Don’t make me say it.” Will looked at him. They lay side by side. 

Hannibal did not meet Will’s eyes. “Stay with me.” It was not a question this time around. 

Will did not smile — maybe he would have, long ago, when remembered conversations repeated had felt like an inside joke. “Where else would I go?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on multiple Hannibal fics right now, hopefully I'll publish them someday. This fic is dedicated to my friend Octavian, as well as all my friends on the Hannibal discord server. The title is taken from Richard Siken's poem "Seaside Improvisation" which I'm sure you can tell also played part in the dialogue. Please let me know what you guys think! Hopefully I'll be uploading more work again soon, we shall see.


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